In The Perspective Of The Dead
by Kohana
Summary: AU When Neville, The Boy Who Lived, comes across a ghost whom knows exactly how to beat Lord Voldemort, he couldn't be happier. However, who is the mysterious ghost and why is it that no one seems to know who he is when he seems to know everyone else?
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first time trying something for the Harry Potter fiction department. I've had this in my head for quite a while, and hoped to put it out there and hopefully it receives good response.**

**So, I believe a disclaimer is in need! None of the characters of Harry Potter belong to me, but instead belong to Miss J.K. Rowling.**

**With no further note, I hope you enjoy this short prologue!**

* * *

"I don't think that's what you were aiming for."

Neville jumped, twisting so violently that he stumbled. The room, besides him, was completely void of life—at least, it _appeared_ to be void of life.

"Who's there?" he whispered. He lifted his wand, ready to cast a spell at talking shadows, but nothing happed. Neville shook his head. "Way to go Nev. _Now_ you're hearing voices!"

He began again; trying to think of the happiest thing he could think of before shouting out; "Expecto Patronum!" Like the last time, a spray of silver mist was the only thing he managed. Neville grimaced. He was never going to get this.

"Your memory isn't happy enough."

Neville breathed out deeply, keeping still for only a moment before letting out a loud "Expelliarmus!" to one of the shadowed corners at which the voice appeared to come from.

"Well, good news is, you can at least perform the disarming charm." And from behind him, appeared a silvery head, complete with round glasses and startling greenish-silver eyes. Neville jumped, pointing his wand at the figure.

"W-what are you?" He managed to squeak out, hand shaking slightly.

The boy, because he couldn't be anything but, gave him a pointed look. "What do you think I am?" He folded his misty arms and Neville could see a Gryffindor badge peak from the edge of arm.

Neville swallowed. "Do I know you?" And after Neville decided that surely it was a ghost and had no power to cause him any pain, he felt slightly bolder.

"I don't know. Do you?" The boy seemed to give him a calculation look and the silvery emerald eyes looked nothing, if not devoid of life. He was shorter than Neville, but not by much, and he was thin with a mess of—black?—hair to finish off a defiant look.

"I don't think so." Neville finally decided. Surely he'd remember this boy if they were from the same house. He had heard of Moaning Myrtle whom had haunted the girls' lavatory for fifty years now, but he never remembered hearing about a Gryffindor boy dying or heard of anyone talking about a Gryffindor ghost other than Nearly Headless Nick.

The boy seemed a bit surprised. "Really?" he pondered. "I thought maybe…" He didn't bother finish, instead seemed to give Neville an insignificant glance. "Anyway," he continued. "You'll never be stopping dementors with that excuse for a Patronus."

Neville flustered. "Any you could do better, couldn't you?" It came out as an angry shout.

"As a matter of fact, yes I could." The boy said calmly. "I managed mine in my third year. What are you now, a sixth year?"

The boy-who-lived stood embarrassed. Surely a ghost that looked to be younger than him hadn't just told him off.

"Look," The boy finally said after the few moments of silence that elapsed between them. "I'll help you because I need you to hurry up and beat Voldemort if I ever wish to get out of this place." Behind him, the ghost boy heard a sharp gasp come from Neville.

"What is it now?" The ghost's frustration seemed to play on the climate of the room as the room became slightly colder.

"Y-You said his name!"

The boy didn't deem him worthy of a response it seemed. Instead, he placed a hand to clasp the bridge of his nose and said; "We've got a lot of work to do." And before Neville could say more, he vanished from view, leaving the sixteen-year-old boy to himself.

Neville shook his head. "Maybe I'll find that I was dreaming come morning."

**(TBC)**

**

* * *

**

**Well, that's it for now. If you enjoyed, please leave me a review!**

**Till then,**

**Kohana  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Well it's been forever and a day since I've even last looked at this story, and I feel awful about it! So, a few notes before hand!

First, I do plan on trying to keep up with this story. I hate to see abandoned stories and it's completely terrible if I became a hypocrite and left my story as it was, so expect updates at least every 2 weeks. I'll try REALLY hard!

Secondly, I would like a Beta for this story, so if anyone is volunteering, I would appreciate the help. Also, hopefully they can give me a swift kick you know where when I take too long in posting an update!

That's about it! I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters as all that belongs to the wonderful J. K. Rowling, and without further ado, here's the second chapter!

* * *

"Morning Ron." A tired Neville mumbled as he spotted the red head at Gryffindor's table the following morning.

"Nev," Ron greeted cheerfully upon spotting the Boy Who Lived. "I noticed you were in bed after hours. Filch didn't catch you did he?" Neville's mood seemed to darken a bit. "Snape, I take it?" Ron continued.

"No." Neville finally murmured, piling scrambled eggs and bacon on his plate for breakfast. "But I was wondering, you happen to know of any Gryffindor ghost that died when they were in Sixth Year, maybe?"

"Honestly," A snippy voice murmured from across the table. Hermione Granger, their fellow Gryffindor classmate took a seat across the two. "Do the two of you even pay attention to anything around you?"

Neville thought Ron might have mumbled 'yes' besides him, but it was normally a good idea to keep quiet as Hermione spoke. Hermione took no notice of this and instead continued, "There are currently twenty-three ghosts residing in Hogwarts. Four of them are Gryffindors, and only one of them is anywhere near our age group. Died sometime back in the Founders' age. He tends to keep to himself and haunt empty classrooms."

Neville perked up at this. "Do you know if he has black hair? Kind of shaggy like. And the most peculiar scar on his forehead."

Hermione frowned before replying, "I'm not sure. I've seen him a few times, but I never paid much attention for him. He always scowls when anyone gets near him." She shook her head. "Heard he died from a stray curse that went wrong."

"Bet it was a Slytherin." Ron piped in between a mouthful of food. Hermione gave him a pointed glare before continuing.

"Anyway, why are you so interested in a Gryffindor's ghost?"

"Well you see—" Neville began before deciding it was probably a good idea _not_ to tell Hermione he was out after curfew. "I came across him yesterday after my talk with Dumbledore and was a bit interested since I'd never seen him around."

She nodded. "That is odd. I've never seen him in corridors or anywhere where people might be walking through. He does like to keep to himself."

"Think we might be able to talk to him?" Neville asked her.

"We could try," Hermione gave him a determined look. "Can't be that difficult to find him! Now hurry up or we'll be late for potions!"

Ron moaned besides Neville. "You'd think that the Headmaster took pleasure in ruining a perfect Friday morning by placing double Potions right after breakfast!" Neville nodded in agreement, and the two ate a few more quick bites before rushing to catch up with Hermione who was already out the Great Hall.

* * *

* * *

"Longbottom! Weasley!" A voice snapped at the two boys entrance to the dank dungeon. "Five points from Gryffindor for your incompetence on time keeping!" Neville grinded his teeth as he took his seat with a disgruntled Ron.

It was not unknown that Potions happened to be Neville's most hated class. Professor Snape, their Potions professor was a humourless individual that took his pleasure in embarrassing and harassing Gryffindors—especially one Neville Longbottom whose Potions skills rivaled that of a toad. Well, at least Trevor, his pet toad, took after his owner in some aspects, Neville thought.

With a flick of his wrist, Severus Snape had the instructions for their newest potion on the board. "Get to work!" He snarled before taking a seat at his desk and busying himself with marking homework assignment.

"He's still a grouch, I see." The voice whispered in Neville's right air.

"Tell me about it." Neville grumbled as he started a fire beneath his caldron.

"Said something, mate?" Ron asked as he came back with the necessary ingredients from the storage room.

Neville seemed to momentarily forget how to speak. "Wha—How? I thought—!"

"Smart little bugger, aren't you?" The voice drawled in his air again, and finally, Neville remembered where he head that voice. Yesterday—the Gryffindor ghost. Quite promptly after that, Neville seemed to lose his chair and fell quite ungracefully on the floor, much to their Slytherin classmates' delight.

Ron was quick to come to his aid. "You okay?"

"I—I don't know." Neville finally decided as he brushed himself off. "You didn't happen to hear anyone just a moment ago, did you?" Neville took a quick look around the room for good measure.

"Can't say that I did. Then again, not many people are brave enough to speak in Snape's class." Ron gave Neville a concerned look. "You sure you're okay? I could take you to the hospital wing if your head's hurting you."

"No!" Neville shook his head for an extra measure. "I'm good! Let's just finish this potion." He took a look at the directions before deciding to cut their ginger that would be needed for their potion later.

"Dear Merlin, you're still bad at Potions!" It was that voice again, and Neville froze.

"Shut up." Neville mumbled, barely audible to Ron, but hopefully loud enough for his ghost to get the point.

"And see yourself get killed in a Potion-related accident? I actually need to see you through the big fight before I can leave, and if you die and I'm stuck here, I'm blaming you and I'm haunting your ghost."

Neville tried to tune the voice out.

"For the love of—! I know I might not have been terribly great at Potions—well not anywhere near as good as Hermione, or Malfoy for the matter," Neville noticed the utter distaste that the boy uttered on Draco Malfoy's name. "But Merlin only knows that compared to you, I'm amazing at Potions, and even _I_ know that what you're doing is not dicing!"

"Would you like to tell me what to do then?" Neville finally bit out nastily, raising his eyes in hopes of catching the invisible voice. Unfortunately, his words resounded in the quiet classroom and everyone paused to give him puzzled looks, including his best friends.

"Two points, Mr. Longbottom. Please refrain from disturbing the class. You may be used to failing my class, but some people," and here, Professor Snape gave a pointed look at Draco Malfoy, "Happen to do well in this class and require quiet to work well."

Neville gave a meek nod and returned to his ginger, his knife in his hand slightly shaking from anger and embarrassment.

"Guess we'll have to make sure you don't fail so you can show that arse up, yeah?" The voice replied afterwards. "Now, you do what I say, alright. First, we're _dicing_, not destroying your ginger. Even circles of about two millimeters width."

Neville was surprised by the end of class to learn that he didn't terribly mess up his potion. Sure, it was not the correct colour but it was _nearly_ the correct colour and that pleased Neville immensely, especially as Snape soured as he turned in his vial.

Yes, Neville thought, the voice couldn't have been that terrible if it helped him get a passing grade in Potions. Now if only he could understand what the voice really wanted. It would have to wait for later. Next was Defense Against The Dark Arts with Professor Potter and while defense was not his best subject, Neville did get along well with his professor and enjoyed the class well enough.

* * *

Well everyone, that's it! If you enjoyed it enough, I hope you'll leave me a review!

Till then,

Kohana


End file.
